


The Choice

by onstraysod



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Introspection, Memories, Short One Shot, The Force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27952139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onstraysod/pseuds/onstraysod
Summary: As Ahsoka Tano connects with Grogu through the Force, sensing his feelings and memories, she is influenced by memories of her own. A one-shot taking place during Chapter 13, "The Jedi."
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Ahsoka Tano
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	The Choice

There were no words, only images. Flashes of color, of light: places and people, moments warmed and chilled by emotions, the universal language. Curiosity was paramount: a wide-open, joyous eagerness to learn, to see, to experience. But fear was there, too. Pulsing, shivering, the brink of an immense chasm gaping at the edge of every memory.

Fear was an incendiary. Lobbed into a superstructure, it could bring the whole edifice down in flames, no matter how noble and pure the design. This was the hardest lesson for most Jedi to learn, but it had been the easiest for Ahsoka to grasp. In the months after the fall of the Republic, she had mourned and felt that mourning rub up against something dark and immense, something that took every ounce of her strength and training to restrain. In retrospect she was thankful for it: thankful for having triumphed then, and for the ignorance that had kept her from tipping over the edge. Had she known that the one she mourned for had been the cause of the mourning, that his fate had been something so much worse than death…

But she had not known, not then. The trial had come and she had passed.

The point was that she understood its power. The anger born of grief: she’d brushed the merest edge of it and known it could have torn a star destroyer from orbit, could have crashed two moons together and pulverized them both. She might have reached across the galaxy and broken the Emperor with the clench of her fist, and lost herself in the process, or set herself up to take his place. For a child to have that kind of power at the tips of his fingers, to pull on when any strong emotion seized him… That was the stuff of nightmares.

But beyond the danger, it was simply cruel.

If she had been given a choice when Master Plo found her on Shili, would she have gone to Coruscant? Would she have willingly laid her life down upon the altar of the Force? She had considered it many times, but never reached a conclusion. It didn’t matter. She hadn’t had a choice. But this child did.

In the last few cycles, the little creature had been charged by a mudhorn and nearly swallowed by a mamacore. He had been snatched by stormtroopers, prodded by medical droids, attacked by ice kryknas.Terrifying experiences for one so small, and yet - curiously - through all these moments ran a vibrant thread of happiness, as potent in Ahsoka’s mind as the rays of a sun falling on her face or a bracing breath of air at the summit of a mountain. The only recent fear she sensed came in moments when the Mandalorian was out of view, too distant for the child to feel easily in the Force. Then the acuteness of that fear plunged and sliced like a blade, a physical pain she felt secondhand in her bones.

In the midst of the child’s reminiscences, Ahsoka turned to glance at the Mandalorian, pacing through the darkness some yards away., There was something different about him, something she had not sensed in any of the other Mandalorians she had known. A deep sorrow pervaded him, a need that had nothing to do with power or tradition, the matters that concerned so many of his kind. She wanted to learn more about him, his past, but she perceived the barrier he’d thrown up around himself, a wall that deflected deep reflection. Even his own.

But the child… He had penetrated that barrier. There was no doubt in Ahsoka’s mind that Grogu had learned more about this Mandalorian that she had yet perceived. More, perhaps, than any other living being knew. Not through words, of course, for the Mandalorian was a man of few, but through a shared recognition, a kindred sympathy. An understanding, passed when energies collided.

Like that day on Christophsis, so long ago.

_You’re reckless, little one. You never would have made it as Obi-Wan’s padawan. But you might make it as mine._

There was nothing Ahsoka could do to change the past. She could only proceed step by step into the future, taking care not to break what needed to be left whole. Turning back to the child, she gazed into his large eyes, a chain of sensations stirring in her consciousness:

_Warmth, familiarity. A shiny smoothness beneath a small hand. The soothing comfort of a steady, rhythmic sound: a heartbeat, a breath. Nearness, security; an utter absence of fear. Words murmured in a low, soft voice and a burst of accompanying devotion._

Were they memories? Or expectations? The child lifted his arms and Ahsoka smiled.

_Yes, let’s go over to him now._

A wave of relief, anticipation - and something else, as she knelt to pick up the child.

A flash of red.

Terror. Rage. Agony.

Then: darkness. A void of hope. Swallowing the whole of the galaxy once again.

She cradled the child in the crook of her arm and nodded. Grogu was peaceful and sleepy; the visions and pain had not come from him. They were memories, and a warning. 

But not Ahsoka’s.

In her mind, through the Force, she responded:

_Yes, Anakin. I understand._


End file.
